Kurt Hummel's Diary
by TheVeryBest
Summary: In which Kurt Hummel explains to his diary exactly how Finn Hudson may cause him early death due to premature heart attack, and despite that, how he still cares for his almost-but-not-quite stepbrother. Oneshot, read and review, please!


**So I pulled an all-nighter to write this, but I'm actually happy with it. Enjoii and review! Should I make more of these? No? Maybe? Tell me! **

Dear Diary,

As you can see, I have decided to keep a diary. The reason being that, when I finally escape from this mind-numbingly dull town full of simpletons performing the same, tedious tasks from day to day, I am going to be a star. Kurt Hummel will be a name known by all, appreciated by all, adored by all, and admired by all. Guys will serenade me outside my house in the middle of the night, singing ballads celebrating my talent and success. Girls will fawn over my flawless skin and envy the luxurious, silken hair I've invested so much time and money in so as to guarantee utter perfection. Rachel Berry will be my maid, and Azimio and Karofsky will be the garbage collectors that will empty my numerous, reeking trash cans every Wednesday at 5:30 in the morning. My father will never have to be ashamed of having a gay son – he will be proud, he will take out pictures of me from his wallet and present them to people he's just met, boasting of my accomplishments. So I figure that one day, as I lounge in a plush, suave chaise, I will go through this diary and marvel at the clever and distinguished sentiments from my younger self.

This, of course, is all assuming that I survive high school – which isn't exactly a guarantee at this point. Because you see, diary, even this just morning, I had to endure a great amount of hardship, all due to my marvelous almost-but-not-quite step-brother. Honestly, it'll be a miracle if I don't die due to an untimely heart attack – and if I do, then you know who to blame.

A few months ago, I would have jumped at the chance to share a room with Finn Hudson. I would have blissfully drowned in fantasies of him caressing my cheek tenderly and pressing his lips to mine. Now, the very thought of that makes me gag. Even as I wrote that, I had to suppress the urge to shudder violently and throw my clothes into a pile so that I could lie covered in them in attempts to soothe myself. As it was, I had to rub my face against my new Gucci scarf. However, I digress.

I awoke this morning to find the foot of one Finn Hudson directly in front of me. I, of course, being unaccustomed to finding reeking body parts with flaking bits of skin on them in my face first thing in the morning, screamed (in the most dignified manner possible, of course). The blockhead promptly jolted awake and tumbled clumsily out of my bed.

You would think, diary, that he would have realized his error and apologized profusely, then rushed upstairs to prepare some pancakes for me in remorse. However, that is not how the mind of Finn Hudson works, apparently.

He grumbled irritably as he rubbed his head, "_Dude_,what's your problem?"

And I told him, "My problem, _dude_, is that I don't exactly take pleasure in waking up to the smell of Eau De Finn Hudson's Nasty Foot. This weekend, you're going to go have a pedicure with me." I closed my eyes briefly to imagine that, inhaling in satisfaction (Note to self: schedule appointment at Blissful Meadows Spa. Might as well sign up for a massage too; make sure to get Enrique, he's absolutely gorgeous and is very good at what he does).

"Haha," he said grumpily and articulately.

"Why were you in my bed anyway?" It was a fair question to ask, because I had recently purchased for him one of those Tempur-Pedic beds he had wanted – you know, the kind on which a glass of wine would stay upright without tipping over, even if an entire football team tackled you on it? Not that I would ever test that, of course; the silk Turkish bedsheets I had custom-made and shipped here directly from Istanbul are far too expensive (not to mention, they go absolutely _perfectly_ with the rest of the room) to even _think_ about having that experiment with.

So anyway, I was patiently awaiting his answer when my father announced that we had better, and I quote, "Drag [our] lazy asses out of bed and get ready for school." I assume that this was directed primarily at the boy who was at the time, curled up into a ball on the floor, tangled with his blanket. I assume this because I am never late for anything, ever, and my father is well aware of that. (Excluding the time I had missed a dentist appointment due to my baby unfortunately, yet conveniently breaking down by the side of the road. My father still resolutely stands by the fact that I could have easily taken care of the problem, and I probably could have. However, I had worn my favorite shirt that day on a whim, and as you know, I would never have risked dirtying it.)

I sighed, stretched, disentangled myself from my blankets, stepped over the unmoving mound on the floor, and showered. I tried the new shampoo that Mercedes had recommended – I simply _must_ remember to thank her, because my hair feels unbelievably soft; I keep feeling it at random moments during the day. When I emerged from the bathroom in my bathrobe and smelling of strawberries, I saw that Finn was still lying motionless on the floor.

I prodded the lump with my foot to see if it was alive, and it groaned and rolled over. I inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, then bent down and shook it in an attempt to awaken it.

"Goway," it mumbled.

"Finn Hudson, if you are not at least sitting up by the time I finish dressing, I am going to pour cold water on you," I threatened. He didn't acknowledge my words, instead smacking his lips and burying his face into the rug beneath him, which I found incredibly rude. I made sure to choose my outfit and change into it in record time.

Sure enough, when I was clothed and ready to head upstairs for breakfast, Finn was resolutely lying face down on my rug and honest-to-God _drooling_ on it. I closed my eyes and tried not to lose control, but I adore that rug. I tugged it out from under him, earning a smack on the leg and an incoherent grumble from the mass stretched out on the floor. I'm glad that I don't have carpeting in my room, otherwise I would not have been able to do what I did next, and that simply would have been a shame.

After inspecting the damage on the rug and deciding that it was nothing a trip to the dry-cleaners wouldn't fix, I marched upstairs, announced to Dad and Carol that Finn was insisting on being more of an idiot than usual that morning (they rolled their eyes at me but shared an amused look), grabbed a bucket from the garage, filled it with cold water from the kitchen sink, dumped the entire tray of ice cubes into it, and brought it back down to our room. Predictably, he hadn't budged an inch.

"Finn, I have here with me a bucket of ice water," I informed him, "I am going to count to ten. If, by the time that I am finished counting, you are _still_ lying on that floor, you can bet your ass that you are going to be soaking wet and shivering violently in approximately eleven seconds."

"One... Two… Three…" Finn rolled over and placed his hands over his ears. "Four… Five… Six…" I bent down and continued counting right beside his face, louder. "_Seven… Eight… Nine…_" I paused, giving him a final chance to rouse himself. "…_Ten!"_

I shrugged and tried not to grin as I slowly emptied the contents of the bucket over the boy, starting with his face, then moving down to his feet, making sure to cover his entire body.

He gasped with shock and sat up immediately. "_Dude! Uncool!" _he screamed at me, and I could hear Dad and Carol laughing upstairs.

"I quite agree. I wouldn't describe that water as cool; I believe it's more along the lines of frigid and icy. Am I correct?" Not exactly my wittiest statement, but in my defense, I was struggling to keep a straight face. The sight of a sibling dripping and trembling after getting on your last nerves is a sight that everybody should see once in their lives, I decided at once.

"_Kurt! What the hell?"_ he sputtered furiously.

"You can't say I didn't warn you." I crossed my arms and smirked at him. "You should dry yourself off now if you want to have any hope of arriving at school on time." I turned and ascended the stairs.

Dad and Carol were looking at me, obviously entertained from what they had heard transpiring downstairs.

"Finn will be ready shortly," I told them sweetly as I grabbed some cereal from the pantry.

"Kurt, you really should be nicer to Finn." Dad chastised me lightly.

I sniffed and poured the cereal into a bowl. "He was asking for it."

"He really was, honey," Carol agreed with a nod towards my father.

I smiled at her for her support as I emptied the last of the milk onto my cereal, and my father merely sighed and said, "Well, he's going to be in a really pissy mood when he comes up. He's grumpy enough when he wakes up on his own, let alone having someone half-drown him to wake him up."

I shrugged and said, "Well, _I_ woke up to see him in my bed with his foot in my face, so I guess this makes us even."

"_Even_? This is _even_?" my dad asked disbelievingly and shook his head.

"Wait, he was in your bed?" Carol looked far too amused for my liking. "Why?"

"I asked him, but he didn't answer," I replied after swallowing a mouthful of my breakfast.

My father and Carol began a conversation about what they planned to do that day, and I quickly lost interest after Dad said something about Home Depot. I began to think about our latest Glee assignment, to sing a song by an artist you feel you can relate to.

Understandably, I have selected _For Your Entertainment_ by none other than Adam Lambert, an out-and-proud homosexual with flamboyant tastes in clothing, rising to fame from obscurity. Of course, a large part of the reason I have chosen Adam Lambert, other than what I had said earlier, is the potential outfit I will wear while performing the song; I'm bound to have oodles of fun planning it. However, I'm still not sure about whether I should go for an Adam Lambert-esque outfit complete with eyeliner and black nail polish, or something extravagantly Kurt-ish with designer clothing all over the place. While I'm sure the Glee club would die a thousand happy deaths at the comical sight of me dressed up in the emo-glam way he does, I'm not entirely sure if I'd be able to pull that particular look off.

Eventually, we heard clomping coming up the stairs, so we all hushed and tried to look casual. I pretended to be fascinated with my cereal when Finn entered the kitchen. I heard Carol try to stifle a giggle, followed by my father patting her lightly on the back, so I looked up, and lo and behold, Finn Hudson was rummaging through the pantry, hair ruffled and slightly damp, wearing an American Eagle _inside-out_, paired with one of _my_ pants. I'm pretty amazed that he managed to squeeze into them, being the giant that he is, and I briefly wondered if I should be worried that my clothes could somewhat fit him. Then he turned around with a package of Pop-Tarts in hand and I saw _exactly _how my clothes could absolutely _not_ fit him. I'm not going to go into detail, because the sight of my favorite Calvin Klein pants being stretched in _that _particular manner was nothing short of overwhelmingly _mind-scarring_. I immediately pushed aside my breakfast. I honestly think that I will be traumatized for life. From now on, if I'm trying to lose weight, I'll just remember Finn wearing those three-sizes-too-small pants and I shall instantly lose my appetite.

"Finn, sweetie…" his mother started cautiously, "I think you should go and look in the mirror."

"Canbebovvered," he mumbled, scowling at his Pop-Tart. I shook my head sadly. Obviously, diary, Finn has been spending far too much time with his Neanderthal teammates. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), I happen to be an expert at deciphering their language, and I believe Finn said something along the lines of, "Can't be bothered."

Carol looked to my father desperately for help, and he cleared his throat and said, "Finn, now I'm no expert in fashion or anything, but I'm pretty sure that what you're wearing should not be allowed in public. You might scare the children."

Finn maturely replied with, "Iduncare," which, in case you're wondering, means "I don't care about destroying innocence by wearing these pants in public, nor do I care about the sheer embarrassment my loving brother will die from by being seen with me in public, because I am a hopeless, ill-tempered moron in the mornings."

I decided to step in. "Finn Hudson, I _am_ an expert in fashion, and while I commend you on your taste in pants, I must insist that you change out of them and put on something that _doesn't_ showcase your junk in such a way. Also, your shirt is inside out."

He glared at me, but otherwise ignored my remark. How incredibly _rude_, am I right, diary? So, what I did next was something that I couldn't be possibly ashamed of; in fact, I should have been rewarded.

I marched up to him, pulled him out of his chair, and tugged the pants off of him, screwing my eyes shut in case his boxers came down with them.

"_Kurt!_" Our parents called in surprise.

"_Dude_!" Finn really needs to expand his vocabulary, wouldn't you agree, diary?

I opened my eyes slowly, and thankfully, Finn had sense enough to hold onto his underwear tightly with both hands. I grabbed his leg and forcefully made him step out of my pants. It was only somewhat satisfying to see him sway and almost lose his balance, because it meant that I had some sort of power over him. It's nice to remind others that I am still a guy and that being gay doesn't mean that I'm weak and powerless.

I shook the article of clothing out and assessed the damage. There didn't appear to be any, probably due to the fact that Finn had luckily (or exceptionally, mortifyingly _unluckily_, if you had actually _seen_ anything) forgotten to zip the zipper.

I left the kitchen with the pants over my arm and returned shortly with a pair of Finn's shorts. Finn was still standing dumbly, one hand grasping his boxers, the other shoving the last of the Pop-Tarts in his mouth.

I walked up to him and thrust the shorts into his arms. "Put them on, or I'll do it for you." I made my voice low and menacing, and he hurriedly complied. I picked up my bowl from the table and turned quickly to hide the smug look on my face. It's amusing to see him being intimidated by me, considering that he's the school's starting quarterback, and I'm the most feminine guy at our school, besides that Jacob kid; he's such a total wuss that even _I_ could kick his butt and not to mention, he screams like a little girl on helium, whereas _I_ just scream like a girl.

"I'm going to make sure that I still look perfect, and then I am getting into my car and leaving," I stated matter-of-factly, "If anyone in this house is looking to get a ride to school, that person should be in the car, ready to go, when I am done."

Five minutes later, after I bid farewell to the parents, I made my way to my car to find Finn sitting stiffly with his arms crossed in the passenger seat.

"Your shirt is still inside out," I informed him as I strapped on my seat belt.

"You're not going to tear it off of me are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Wow, Finn, speaking in complete sentences already? You should be proud." I applauded lightly and backed out of the driveway.

"Hmph. You're a pain in the ass today,"

"And you're more clueless than usual today." I paused. "Hey, you never did tell me why you felt the need to sneak into my bed."

He didn't reply.

I continued, "I mean, did you really have to put your feet where I put my head? Was that really all that necessary?"

Silence. Then –

"I was scared," he mumbled under his breath.

"What, scared of my face? Do you prefer to wake up to the sight of my feet? Ouch."

He scowled. "No. I wasn't paying attention."

"Oh, okay, that's not new."

He sighed exasperatedly. "Do you want me to tell you or are you going to keep tempting me to punch you in the face?"

"Finn, we both know what would happen if you ever laid a hand on me. Your collection of fuzzy socks will die a premature death." I made a stern face. "Now explain to me why you decided to ignore your perfectly good bed last night."

"…There was lightning and thunder. I was scared," he muttered, turning pink.

I honestly didn't know how to respond for once. I mean, the last time I was afraid of thunderstorms was before I even knew Coach or even Louis Vuitton existed.

He went on. "Yeah, it's pretty lame. I know. It's just that… my mom told me how my dad died when I was kinda young, and when I was a kid, thunderstorms sounded like a war goin' on with guns and the lightning made me think of all the explosions and stuff. And so storms like that scared me, because if it could get my dad, then I thought maybe it could get me. I know it's stupid, but… whenever there's a thunderstorm, I just… I get afraid and just want someone close by."

I was quiet for a while. Honestly? I was thinking of the broken dresser in my parents' room. "…That's not stupid." The same words Finn said to me when I told him about lying on the floor with all of its drawers open and smelling her. I placed my hand on his forearm for a moment, not knowing what else to say.

"I'll try not to do it again," he promised quietly.

I shook my head. "Finn, if there's ever another thunderstorm, I _insist_ on you crawling into my bed. If you don't, I'll just get into yours. Otherwise, you'll lie awake all night, scared stiff, and you won't get enough sleep, and the next morning you won't wake up and I'll have to dump water on you again."

"…You make a good point."

"I always do." I smiled.

And that, diary, is how my morning went. I'd tell you about the rest of the day, but sadly, nothing all that eventful happened, except for the part where Sue Sylvester forcefully painted Jacob Ben Israel's face white and super-glued a bright red clown nose onto his face after he wouldn't stop trailing after her in the halls, harassing her with questions for some interview.

And right now, there's a thunderstorm and lightning is flashing every thirty seconds or so. Finn's waiting for me, and I must go to him. I don't know, diary, but the boy is really starting to grow on me, despite how painfully irritating he is at times. I'm glad he's around, and Finn, if you're reading this and bring it up, I'll deny it vehemently and promptly shave off your eyebrows while you sleep, but I think I'll actually really like being his brother.

With that, I bid you ado.

_HUMMEL OUT~_

**I'm working on my other story, Hey There, and I'll be updating it soon~**

**I love Kurt Hummel.****That is all.**


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